


Starry Night

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Reminiscing, Stargazing, aftermath of war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 23:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18200723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: When Harry's mind gets noisy with memories, Draco helps to chase them away.





	Starry Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mairegen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mairegen/gifts).



> A short ficlet written for a prompt from @mai-und-regen of Smashing Pumpkins 'Tonight, Tonight', Harry and Draco discussing the war, and stargazing. Thank you for a terrific prompt!

“I thought I might find you here.” 

“It’s peaceful. Watching the stars helps me think.” Harry pats the ground next to him. “Join me?”

“You have perfectly decent chairs inside.” Draco sighs and stretches out next to Harry, despite his complaints. “At least you remembered to use magic this time.”

“Wouldn’t want your posh shirt getting grass stains on it,” Harry mutters. He watches as the clouds pass over a cluster of stars, blotting out the moon before they’re carried away on a gust of wind. “How was work?”

“Long. Boring.” Draco shifts on the ground beside Harry. “Same as always.”

“You’re later than usual.”

“I went for a drink afterwards. I wasn’t sure you wanted me here.”

Harry swallows back the _I always want you here_ that hovers on the tip of his tongue, the words disappearing like clouds. 

“The wards are always open,” Harry replies. “Just in case.”

“As are mine.” Draco clears his throat. “Something on your mind?”

“Lots of things.” Harry focuses on one of the brighter stars, counting as it twinkles and blinks. “It’s been noisy today.” 

It’s code they developed when they stopped fighting for long enough to start kissing and stopped kissing for long enough to start talking. _It’s noisy_ is Harry’s way of saying _the war is back_ as it often is, twisting and turning through his nightmares, turning his brain inside out when he’s undertaking innocuous tasks that shouldn’t remind him of the war at all. It’s funny how that happens. Working with the Aurors rarely has the same power to bring everything rushing back, because he’s so focused on his task, so acutely aware of impending danger, of new battles to be fought and won. He feels ridiculous when a simple task like washing the dishes brings him to his knees. 

“Oh.” Draco’s tone changes, a note of clipped authority to it. “You should have told me. I’m sure Gringotts could have spared me this afternoon.”

“Should I have sent a Patronus?” Harry tries unsuccessfully to keep the amusement out of his voice, a smile tugging at his lips.

“A little flashy, Potter.” Draco snorts under his breath. “A Fire Call would suffice. I do have an office of my own, if you’re worried what people might think.”

“I’m not worried about that.” Harry turns his head towards Draco, taking in the clench of his jaw as he pointedly doesn’t look at Harry. “I’ve never been worried about that.”

Draco sighs, putting his hand underneath his head and staring at the sky. “Yet here we are, lying in your garden in the dark.”

“The stars are out,” Harry says, quietly. “It’s not that dark.”

“Isn’t it?” Draco blinks at the sky. “Some nights it feels as though the sun won’t ever come up.”

Harry turns back to the stars, stretching his hand out until his fingers twine with Draco’s. His hand is unexpectedly warm, his grip tight as he squeezes Harry’s hand before relaxing his hold.

“We can tell people.” Harry breaks the silence at last, when the fragile stillness in the air becomes overwhelming. “If you like.”

“Public opinion won’t be kind,” Draco replies. “There are plenty who don’t believe I have the capacity for change. The Malfoy name is synonymous with cowardice and ugly, tainted things.”

Harry turns to Draco, their eyes meeting at last. “I’ve never cared about public opinion.”

“You might.” Draco’s voice falters and he runs his hand over his chin, his eyes dark. “You’re the only good thing in my life that I have left to lose.”

“You won’t lose me. Not over the _Prophet_ being wankers.”

Draco’s lips curve into a smile and he reaches for Harry, brushing his hair back from his forehead. His eyes flick to the scar that still seems to burn on the darkest of days, when the noise in Harry’s head crescendos into a restless clamour. Remus casting spells, Sirius laughing, the pop and flash of Colin Creevy’s camera. So many voices, so many ghosts. They all chatter at once until their voices merge into one, loud yell and suddenly nobody speaks at all. That’s when snakes slither, hisses low and beguiling until there’s just the shock of silence that follows _Avada Kedavra_.

“Is it still noisy up there?” Draco’s fingers brush Harry’s scar, cool against the heat of his forehead.

“A bit.” Harry swallows, trying to find the words. “I thought fresh air would help.”

“Did it?”

“Maybe.” Harry takes a breath, his heart drumming in his chest. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“There’s nowhere else I want to be.” Draco looks startled, as if he wasn’t expecting to say the words out loud. He looks away. “Forget I said that. I’d rather be in Saint-Paul-de-Vence.”

Harry bursts out laughing, the tension in his body ebbing away. “I’ve never been to France. You should take me.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “You’re an Auror with access to any method of international travel you desire, not to mention you have plenty of gold in your Gringotts vault and multiple companies that would pay you handsomely for any endorsement. You don’t need me to take you anywhere.”

“It’s a turn of phrase, Malfoy.” Harry grins at Draco. 

Draco huffs and shifts over Harry, running his fingers down Harry’s chest as he holds his gaze. “ _You_ can treat _me_ to a holiday, if you’re so afraid of travelling alone.”

“I can’t speak French.” Harry bites back a groan as Draco’s fingers travel lower. “I’ll need you to order my vino blanco or whatever the fuck people drink in France.”

Draco stares at Harry, expression horrified. “Clearly you need all the help you can get. I suppose I can clear my schedule for a few days.” He pulls a face and tugs lightly at Harry’s t-shirt. “You can borrow some of my clothes.”

“Thanks. I can’t wait to look like a total twat while you show off your local knowledge.” Harry catches Draco’s hand and covers it with his own. “Do you ever talk dirty in French?”

Draco raises an eyebrow at Harry. “Do you ever want me to?”

“I don’t know.” Harry shrugs. “We should try it, when we’re in France. I like how your stupid posh voice sounds when you’re being filthy.” 

“Such a charmer.” Draco leans closer, his voice gruff and his lips cool on Harry’s jaw. “I can talk dirty to you just fine in English.” His smile touches Harry’s skin. “And four other languages.”

“Show-off.” Harry wraps his hand around the back of Draco’s neck and urges him closer until their lips almost touch. “Why don’t you try not talking at all?”

Draco answers with a kiss, fierce and confident. His mouth opens against Harry’s, their kiss hot and searching as the night’s cool breeze gathers them close. Somewhere in the back of Harry’s mind the war threatens to resurface again, the memories of another starry night pulsing through his brain. Charred earth, blood-red stars, the heat of summer, the whisper and slice of spells, fizzing and sparking, leaving deep gashes in the night’s sky. 

“Stay with me,” Draco murmurs. His lips make a path down Harry’s throat, his hands pulling Harry’s t-shirt up, and off. The press of his fingers turns the sparks of memory into sparks of pleasure, the slide and bite of his tongue and teeth pulling Harry back to the night that’s theirs alone.

“I am with you,” Harry replies. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” He thinks Draco deserves to hear it, because it’s the truth. Harry’s rubbish at flirting and crap at sweeping romantic declarations, but he can manage honesty.

Draco pauses for an infinitesimal moment. He looks up, his eyes meeting Harry’s. There’s a warmth behind them that Harry’s still not used to seeing from Malfoy. Harry knows how Draco’s past weighs heavily on him, is familiar with Draco’s obstinate refusal to find good in himself. _I’m going to spend the rest of my life paying penance_ Draco said once, after too much wine. _But I don’t know how to apologise for something when sorry can never be enough_.

“Harry—” Draco stops, his mouth parted as if he wants to speak and can’t find anything other than silence. In the end he curses under his breath and pushes his hair back with a rough swipe of his hand. He ducks his head and presses his fingers into Harry’s thighs, words lost to the night.

“I know,” Harry says. He does. He thinks he does. He knows how he feels, at least. Knows the reckless kick and beat of his heart. Knows the way Draco’s smile does weird things to his insides, knows the way his body aches and yearns. 

“You couldn’t possibly.” Draco’s tone indicates the conversation is over, for now. 

Harry doesn’t push. They have the rest of the night for talking. It’s been a long time since Draco fucked and left. Now he always stays. A splash of white-blond hair on Harry’s pillow, the scent of familiar cologne and the solid, warm curl of an arm around Harry’s body. He has clothes in Harry’s wardrobe, socks in his drawer and his grey cashmere scarf on the hook in the hallway. It happened so gradually, now Harry can’t imagine Godric’s Hollow without something of Draco’s in it. Harry isn’t scared of much, but he’s scared of this. Scared of how much he wants, of falling too fast, too deep. He doesn’t want to make Draco pull away, but he also doesn’t know how to do things by halves, how to play whatever games people are supposed to if they want to keep their hearts safe.

Harry closes his eyes as Draco moves lower, taking in every sound. The clink of a belt, the metallic grind of a zip lowering, the roughness of his own breath. Harry’s kicks off his jeans and waits for the wet heat of Draco’s mouth, biting back a shout when Draco delivers just as anticipated. It’s blissfully good, now Draco knows Harry’s body better than anyone. It’s a long way off from those early hurried kisses, when they fucked like they were still fighting on opposite sides of a war. 

As pleasure takes him over, Harry opens his eyes and keeps his hand on the back of Draco’s neck. It tethers him, being connected like this. It’s like Draco’s firm hands on his body can keep him close to the earth and stop him from floating into a different sky, where battles rage and good people die. Harry’s lips part and he sucks in the night air, cool and sweet. 

Harry grunts out Draco’s name as he comes, his eyes swimming with pin-points of light, his body burning like stars.

**Author's Note:**

> [say hi on tumblr!](https://writcraft.tumblr.com/) | [rebloggable tumblr post](https://writcraft.tumblr.com/post/183633043873/oooh-if-youre-still-up-for-prompts-im-still)


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